All Gone Wrong
by fieldandfountain
Summary: An alternate version following 1.13 in which Marian has gone through with her marriage to Gisborne. Marian has a secret that has the power to set her free- or leave her at the mercy of her enemies, and she takes a reckless step to conceal her identity. A less idealized but still emotionally charged version of the popular 'forced marriage' fics. Marian, Guy, and lots of Djaq too.
1. Chapter 1

TW: Non/con touching

 **AN: If you like, please leave a comment- I tend to lose interest if I don't think I have an audience to keep on their toes. And I am getting back into writing so it means a lot.**

Guy led her to the bedchamber, and he gazed upon her as though lost for words. He reached out his hand, and when she didn't return it he stuttered.

He waved his arm about the room. "Marian, this is all- all yours."

"Yes," she said, her voice quiet. "You have shown me before." He had led her through her and discussed his lineage as though it would impress here, and it was here that she first saw the chest of silver. Her eyes fell on the chest, the chest that the only a few nights before she had emptied in an act of final rebellion. She had thought at the time it would bring her peace. It didn't.

He took a single step- hesitated- then took her in his arms and pressed her to his heart. It was beating, and heavily, which seemed to her in her dazed state such a strange thing. His scent was unfamiliar- there was leather and horse, which she knew, but something else as well, something…of a man. She held her breath to keep her wound, still fresh in her lower abdomen, from pulsing. She could stall for time; there might be- hope against hope- deliverance. But he could not discover it tonight.

"I have longed for this night," he said, his voice rich with the longing that so often disarmed her. If only it was some other girl, in a body less broken, or those words had come from….but she wouldn't think of _him_ now.

She stood fast. If there ever was a time for courage, true courage, it was now. Her dear father could not protect her, though he was safe, God be thanked. Gisborne's men had staged a sort of kidnapping, and though she felt outrage on her father's behalf, she was relieved. As for _Robin_ \- in his eyes she had betrayed him. Marian didn't know if Guy would thinking of Robin when he led her to the marriage bed as he had promised- judging from his gaze his thoughts were elsewhere- but she knew Robin was thinking of her, and the thought was a punch in the gut.

Guy released her, and looked her full in the eyes. A hint of their darkness returned as he tugged at the laces of her gown. "Marian, I want to see you."

"Perhaps you will not like what you see," she said, not out of modesty, but out of the knowledge of how little he knew.

Guy unfastened the top of her dress. Her body went limp, and she turned her head. Guy whistled through his teeth. He marched across the room and back, and she noticed how different his boots sounded on the wood flooring when she had always heard them, usually in with some anxiety, across the castle's stone floor. Her clutched her shoulders. "Marian, have you ever felt _anything_ for me?"

She thought of all his cruelties, and yet mercy…she could not deny him mercy. _Anything_ was such a vague word. She lifted her head, and held back her tears. She had cried so much as a girl, when Robin had first left. Then she had taught herself not to weep, but her feeling ran deep, and her eyes had a tendency to grow damp. And she _had_ felt for him, Sir Guy, Sheriff's minion as he was- _something_. "He has qualities," he had told Robin, though she had only said so to defend herself from the crushing pressure from all sides. Did she wish to redeem him? Did he stir her, as he had boasted to Robin that night? Oh yes, he was sensual, but viper-like, untrustworthy. And yet such desperate, unalloyed longing dripped from his every pore- did that mean a good man underneath, or simply a wasted soul with nothing left to lose?

"I-I did, I do." It was much like her wedding vow that morning, unsteady yet true. He pressed to lips to hers, and she forced herself to return the kiss, but so slightly that he pulled away disappointed.

Her gown was now loose around her shoulders. Guy peeled off his jacket, a man's form. Oh, he was handsome, too much so, and her cheeks flamed. She had always liked looking at him, as much as it disturbed her it when he looked at _her_ , and it shamed her. As though wishing to relieve her, he slipped a nightshirt over his head. She watched him struggle with his boots. No doubt he had dismissed Thornton, or whichever manservant usually helped him. She nearly pitied him, but worse was the waiting with her breasts nearly bared.

Marian pulled up her dress, knelt down, and pulled at the boots. She was helping him to bed her, but it would happen regardless. Looking up briefly, she caught a light in his eyes. No, she couldn't let that stand. "You've been humiliated enough in your time," she said calmly as she dared, thinking of Robin's triumphs. He growled, but she pulled off the other and stood back. He peeled off his trousers and stood before her, looking almost strange in the pale linen shift. His black hair seemed if possible blacker by contrast, but she feared him less, though the exposure of his limbs and chest though the cloth unnerved her. She looked down at his feet- simply a man's feet, no more, no less. But the figure came toward her and she started.

"Now I will help you," Guy said, pulling at her dress. It fell to the ground in a golden heap and she was left in a flimsy chemise that barely reached her knees. Her face flamed, and he must have thought it was some virtuous instinct, but it was the realization of her wound. That he _must not_ , _could not_ see it.

"I wish to wait," she pleaded. "Not tonight."

He stepped toward her, took her chin in her hand, and touched her lip. "No, Marian," He laughed low. "No more games." He leaned in to kiss her, but seemed to think better of it and pulled away.

What would he do to her if her found out? The stitches were in- she was barely past danger of infection. She stared at his hands, so large and broad. Could he strangle her? Would he?

" Very well." The tears clouded her eyes again as her mind raced in desperation. "But you must make me some allowance."

"I will be gentle, Marian. I will be good to you."

"Yes," she said, her voice breaking. "But I am afraid to be fully, fully- undressed. Let me keep this shift on, at least until we have grown accustomed-"

His face grew dark, but he nodded. "You are afraid, Marian. I would go to hell and back to see your body now but I- I will prove myself by keeping my urges in check. But remember, you are mine now."

 _I am nobody's_ , she thought as Guy placed her arm under her back and lifted her into the bed. He rearranged her hair so it flowed over the pillow and gazed at her there for a moment, with a tenderness so foreign to him, a tenderness she never asked for, and rejected from the depths of her heart.

The firelight fell over them, and Guy seemed to her little more than a mass of shadows. There was a curve on his lips, and she could tell he was smiling, but too often she had seen that smile turn sour. He stroked her leg with his fingertips, seeming to wonder at it. He took her calf in his palm and she felt a shudder- of fear or pleasure, she couldn't say.

"Your skin-" he started, gazing into to her eyes, but he must not have liked what he saw there, for his expression fell flat.

He then crawled over her, his hands next to her shoulders, his legs parted over her thighs, hovering above her. Her breathing hastened, but would not close her eyes, as it seemed to do so would be giving in. She could feel the stiffness in every muscle in her face. The moment would come. She finally lost her nerve and turned her head, letting her eyelids fall as she clutched the bedclothes. She waited- for the pressure, the pain- but nothing happened. When she looked up, Guy was at her side.

"Marian," his voice was hoarse and slow. She could barely make out a tremor in his hands, from restraint perhaps. "I can't just-I can't just take you. I have to make this easier for you." He lifted his hand to a strand of hair near her ear, and yes, the tremor was real.

She swallowed. "Then leave me be," she pleaded, in the gentle voice she had used to plead before, for the countless hungry and voiceless.

But as it had always been, it had no effect on him. "I can not do that. You know I can not."

She looked upward at the canopy. "The Sheriff will mock you, I suppose if you fail in _your duty_."

He lunged toward her. She kept her throat tight to stifle a scream. But he simply took her face gently in his hands, and his black hair brushed her forehead. "Don't _speak_ of him, Marian, not tonight of all times. It's only the two of us."

"Don't speak of him," she said, her courage rising, "When he has always been there! When you held the threat of him over me to-" He pushed himself off of the bed. She dropped her head- she had lifted it slightly, causing strain to her wound. She prayed to the Christian gods, and whatever spirits the wise woman of the forest summoned, that it _would. not. bleed_. The moon fell over him, and she watched the silhouette of his shoulders, rising and falling. How could a henchman be built like a knight of the troubadours?

She knew she could not persuade him. Too often she had tried, and it had ended in raw disappointment. He slipped from the window to her side. Her heart pounded as he lifted his hand to her cheek, and caressed her jawline. His fingers trailed down her body. He dared to touch the edge of her breast, but no further, and his hand slipped down her ribs and hips to her thighs.

He rested his forehead against her cheek and pushed his other arm beneath her so he was clutching her waist. "Marian, trust me, this will ease the pain."

She took a breath, steeling herself. She thought of Lambert, tortured- in part due to the man by her side. She had always imagined she would tortured at some point, but not in such a strange way.

"Shh," he said, kissing her cheek. Since she had repulsed him- or at least barley responded- he hesitated to kiss her lips now. His fingers trailed up between her legs and a hand wedged between her thighs. She uttered a cry. "Please, my love, relax. I don't want to hurt you. "

His fingers parted her to her depths, and stroked her in a gentle circular motion. She felt a pressure against her thigh and realized it was him, growing against her. She was still breathing deep and felt herself grow weary as though she had had too much wine. The fingers increased in speed. It felt as though her body was responding, though in her mind, she had gone elsewhere, across the land, far from Locksley, even England. She was seeing flowers, and even the abandoned hovel she used to play in as a child. As a child with- Robin. But it was a young Robin, simultaneously a child and an ancient memory, and it didn't haunt her.

A single finger pushed into her. _This is Guy. How strange_. She thought. The knight with the perpetual scowl had his fingers around her waist, he was breathing on her neck, and now two fingers were inside of her exploring, and she uttered a small moan. She felt him start, from hope perhaps, and a third finger slipped inside. A stroke or two and then..

He was out of her, up on his knees, with an expression of utter bewilderment on his face.

"You are not a maid," he said, almost gasping. She was prostrate under him, and quickly, no violently awoke from her reverie.

Her body was shaken, but she held her voice firm, if quiet. "I never said that I was."

It had been two years after Robin had left, after she had finally let him go, when she had given herself to a soldier- a kind soldier -in her father's retinue. She was seventeen, lonely and also angry, very angry. She had had no wish to tie herself to a man, seeing how it so often ended in sorrow, and yet she had the same longings as other girls. It was more curiosity than love, and though a thousand voices would have told her she was a fallen woman, she never could or would believe it.

"It. Was. Understood," he said, his voice sinking deep, to that dark pitch she dreaded.

"Are you untouched then?" she snapped, shocked by her own audacity.

He ignored her and his hands turned to fists. _Oh God, No_. But her real fear was that the scar would be uncovered.

"Was it Hood?" He growled and she could sense a note of terror in his voice.

"No," she whispered. "Not him. Long after he left." She turned her head to the side. She had lied to him before, but this was the truth, and his body seemed to calm.

They sat in silence for a minute, two. "It is not too soon to repudiate me." She said.

His breath was rough, and she was fully aware of the mass of his body. "Repudiate you, Marian?"

"Yes, I am not a virgin," she said, gathering her courage and sitting up to face him. "Let my father know, let the town know, let me suffer for _cheating_ you." She was glad her face was clouded in darkness, or he would have seen it glow. There may be punishments for her, terrible punishments unless the sheriff took some glee in his henchman's plight and turned the farce on him. It was not unlikely- though the sheriff had been cruel to her, he seemed to take greater joy in taunting Guy. Her father would stand by her, but he would have to bear slights in old age- his daughter, the Lady Marian, a whore. As for her- she would be nothing as she had longed to be, free, she could run into the woods, finally an outlaw and-

Guy laughed, low. He leaned in and kissed her, this time on the lips, though chastely. "Oh, no Marian. You have greatly underestimated my feelings for you."

Thornton had told her, in a hush, in a whisper, what Guy had said before the wedding. That her pure heart would wash him clean. She had not thanked the manservant for such a revelation, but now...She lurched backwards.

"As you see," she said, her voice struggling. "I am not pure, I am not-"

"No, you are not pure." His silhouette looked upwards, and he spoke quickly. "What else has been a sham? Perhaps you take some pride in my lineage? In my position and growing wealth?"

She thought of her role of the Nightwatchman, when she had stolen his own silver from this very house. The wound he had inflicted, still fresh, burned at her side all the harder and she stifled the urge to groan.

He turned to her. "You are different than I imagined." He ran his hand through her hair. "And that intrigues me."

 _He had this wrong, far too wrong_. "Guy, it was only a lover…"

He laughed low. "It was corruption and and corruption is a seed that lives in you. It only needs the right conditions to sprout. But you are still but a girl, and I have promised to protect you. Your secret is safe." He wrapped his arms around her suddenly, burying his head against her neck. She felt his thick hair over her cheek, and his unfamiliar scent. It dawned on her that he took comfort in the fact she was not a maid, that she was, in the eyes of all if they knew, _impure._ As though all her other deeds meant nothing, and Gisborne's foul acts were balanced by her youthful indiscretion.

All she had to do was lead him to fire, to lift up her shift and reveal the wound, his wound, a wound so fresh it still wept, and all this misguided kinship would turn to rage. Her lips were on her neck, and she gasped. No, not yet. That wrath would come another day.

 **Looong Note on the text (you don't have to read): This is another 'forced marriage' fic between Maid Marian and Gisborne, a very common theme I know, but I wanted to be more realistic than idealized. There great deal of fear in her dealings with him, which I think is often misinterpreted as sexual tension, though that tension certainly exists. This is an uncomfortable fic, and I wanted it to be so. I love Marian with Guy and Marian with Robin for different reasons- hell, I just love Marian and find her a great role model of courage, kindness, moral integrity, and gentleness with a backbone. I think Guy fans often dismiss her actions towards Guy as cruel and manipulative- which they are- but it's a role she's forced into, and one that he asks for by not leaving the Sheriff. I feel uncomfortable writing him into a role that I would find unforgivable (forcing himself on the woman he loves) though I think it's in character. (However, I do not believe he would have ever killed her, and I simply don't buy that part of the story) I think I am making him a man of his time but with Marian...not so much.**

 **The creators of the show said that she would not be called Maid Marian, because whether she was a virgin 'maid' or not was irrelevant. Of course, during the time period is was** **highly relevant, but I often thought this statement was highly telling, both about the BBC's outlook for their Robin Hood and the character of Marian herself. The BBC Marian has always been very modern, especially when it comes to her personal independence (and clothing choices!), and I wanted to keep that. If I were writing a more historical character I would try to stay true to the mores of the time, but it's very fun to write a character who would think more like a modern woman who is aware of the dangers of the era she is in, but has a strong view of her own rights. Another thing that really struck me about Marian was her kindness and courtesy to a man who was forcing her to marry him (he had never been to a wedding, and she gave him directions). I wondered how this might translate to the wedding night (though I doubt she'd be so generous as to give him directions, and I doubt he needs them!) I think, in spite of her courtesy, she has an excess of mercy, which I wanted to explore in this fic. Also, the show glossed over her mortally dangerous wound and I wanted to make sure it was an important factor. Imagine being married against your will to a man who has wounded you while you betrayed him by robbing him within days of said marriage, nearly dying from the wound, and then having to sleep with him without him finding out. Quite the predicament!** _  
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	2. Chapter 2

TW: Self-harm

Marian was holding her breath, perhaps because she was so firmly in Guy's grasp. There had been a bridge between them, tenuous and distant as it was, but now there was only a hollow. Guy had idealized her, seeing in her qualities she never had or wished to have. Now, against all reason, the fact that she was- as ill as the word made her- _tarnished_ , he clung to her all the harder.

Her legs were draped over his knees on the edge of the bed, and he held her in his arms, his fingers knotted at the small of her back. Her hands rested gently on his shoulders and not wanting to look at him, she laid her head against his chest. His distinct scent no longer felt so strange, and it comforted her that she could grasp this single element of his being with certainty.

 _How brutalized he must be_ , she thought, _to take my imperfection as a symbol of hope._

Did he expect her to join with Vaisey, to turn against all she had spoken for? Did he see the potential for hypocrisy within her and love her all the more for it?

And the minutes passed- why, _why_ didn't he speak?

Slowly, she lifted her head, and he tilted his downwards so their lips nearly met. She gently lowered her head to avoid a kiss, but their foreheads pressed together, an act that seemed more still more intimate. She felt the quick beat of his eyelash against hers before she pulled away, straining her stomach and her wound. She let out a slight cry and clutched him for balance.

"Did I hurt you?" He asked, peering into her eyes.

 _Yes, you have, and more._ But she shook her head.

"No Guy. I am well. Tonight is only- unexpected for me." She was on his chest again, and there was the heartbeat, one more element of stability in a man she could not fully know.

His chin was on the crown of her head. "For me too, Marian. I have not gained what I expected to gain."

 _What I expected to gain_ …She snorted in derision, and was fully aware of her breasts pressed against him, her buttocks resting against his knee. She had a habit of seeking refuge in the most foolish places. She slipped off of him.

"And what was your expected gain?" she cried weakly. She stood to face him, but it was too much, and she found herself slinking before the fire. He seemed puzzled, but his face hardened. "A piece of flesh, to be the first to stain my honor?"

"There would be no stain if I was your wedded husband!" he said. "You must see that at least."

"No Guy, I do _not_ see it. I am as I ever was." She spread out her arms, though not fully. A bead of sweat formed of her forehead.

"But what were you?" He lowered his head. "But I fooled you I suppose, with this false king. What could I expect with but a trick in kind?"

It seemed such a false position, to convince the husband she had never wanted of a fact she did not deem worth consideration, that his _prize_ was still worth the wanting despite its _defects_. She stared into the fire, weary and wishing she could rest untouched.

And the fire, for all its ferocity, made her think of dawn. The beads of sweat on her forehead became rivulets, and she realized in panic that her mind was going. It was no strange thing- she had conquered death and there must be a price to pay. Her eyes fixed on the embers, made more brilliant by their black sheath. But if she fell- if Guy sought treatment while she lay senseless….

 _The wound. My father_.

And all the while she would be in his power.

There would no Robin Hood this time, no triumphant rescue, and the realization made her feel like the living dead.

"Marian?" Guy called.

" _Leave me be_ ," she whispered.

It would only be a second. _Have courage_ she told herself, as her vision began to swim. Her hand shook as she reached into the fire, and grasped a burning ember. Marian felt her flesh sear and heard Guy's hoarse call. She screamed as she placed it on the tender wound before bunching up her sheath and pressing down, hard. _There must be no trance. Leave no trace._ She didn't know that she was capable of such a call, such a scream, hoarse and wild as a fury, but she left the ember there, and let it burn through her.

"Marian, you are mad!" Guy cried, lifting her by her ribcage so the ember fell to the floor. He clutched her, tight, and even in her failing mind she could feel his body heave.

"Find Djaq," she said through pale lips, and her eyes closed.


	3. Chapter 3

A strange humming, much like the drone of bees, permeated the room. All was warm, and light, and fragrant. Marian felt fingers twisting through her hair, and sighed. She recognized the motion from early childhood, from her mother. Someone was braiding her hair.

She blinked and opened her eyes. She was bathed in white light and the humming continued until it became a song. The tone was sweet and low, and the words were foreign. With great effort she twisted her head.

"Djaq," she breathed.

It was strangely familiar, how the Saracen girl faced her with a pained smile. All around her, the light still stung, but her friend's eyes were dark and assuring.

"You were singing, Djaq." Djaq took her fingers and clutched them.

"You only imagine things," Djaq said, smiling slightly. She lifted Marian's forehead to study her eyes. It was a sudden movement, and Marian didn't like to be touched without her consent, but it calmed her, as did Djaq's very presence. She took comfort in the elfin face with its frame of cropped black hair.

"And you were braiding my hair!" Marian tried to laugh, but only achieved a small smile.

"I had long hair once, Marian," said Djaq. "And enjoyed it in a way. We have many lives to live, and this works better in this life." She ran over hand over her boy's cut. "But in another, I did like to braid it. Marian-"

"Where is Robin?" asked Marian.

Djaq tilted her head, and her pupils dilated. How lovely her eyes were like that, round and pure black.

"Ro-Robin?" She said. Djaq, always so plain spoken, fumbled with the single name.

"Yes, we were running. I think. Guy had wounded me, and I fell."

"Yes…" Said Djaq cautiously.

Marian's vision began to clear. She had been in the forest, but now she was in a room, in a house, with a coverlet over her. With the vision came an overwhelming pain, and she winced.

"I am so glad you were there, Djaq." She reached out for her friend's hand and pressed it. Djaq returned the pressure, but cautiously. Marian could feel a mounting burn in her abdomen, and she knew only Djaq could have healed her. But why were they here?

"This is not my father's house." she said.

"No, Marian." said Djaq slowly. Marian sighed. Her father still had friends among the landed, as did Robin. It became increasingly familiar. She had been here before, perhaps as a child…

"Djaq, bring me Robin." she said with greater urgency. She longed to see him, and he would be so glad to see her as well. Perhaps more than glad.

"I can't," said Djaq. Her eyes were welling up.

"No, Djaq." Said Marian. Her body was utterly drained. She still held one of Djaq's hands and tried to grip her with the other before realizing that it was bandaged, so much so that it was like a thick, ungainly glove. She lifted it and stared at it in horror before dropping her arm and turning back to to Djaq. "Is he hurt? Dead?" Djaq gasped from the pressure of Marian's grip. "You _must_ tell me!"

"No, Marian!" said Djaq. "Robin is well, I promise."

"And free?" she asked, releasing her grasp.

Djaq let out a breath. "Yes, everyone is well and free"

Marian released her hand, and slunk back, exhausted. Djaq would not lie to her.

"Marian, I must-" Djaq stopped abruptly.

"What is this noise? Is she still restless?" The voice was deep and familiar, and a dark figure slipped into the room. Black boots, a suit of leather. Guy, Guy of Gisborne.

Marian's eyes grew wide "He is-" she said, her voice breaking.

Djaq leaned in, and whispered hoarsely. "Marian, I don't know how to-" she cleared her throat. "You are _married_ to him. To _Gisborne_. Take care." Marian's body stiffened.

Guy walked to the bedside. In the bright morning light he cast no shadow, but with his looming presence overhead, he may as well have. He hesitated before falling to one knee, and Djaq quickly made way. Marian dulled her gaze, afraid to shut her eyes and afraid to open them.

Guy placed his hand on Marian's cheek. It was heavy and cool. "How is she?"

"The danger is gone," said Djaq, omitting the 'Sir' or 'My Lord' or any of these titles she refused to bother to keep track of. She didn't know how to approach this man, her natural enemy, but she trusted in his solicitude toward Marian, and that was enough. Yes, she had backed into the wall, as far as from him as physically possible, but he would not harm her. Somehow taking on a patient and saving her life had only increased her desire to protect her. The others had a silent pact of sorts- they would forget her to spare Robin his torment.

But Djaq would never forget. She rarely let her emotions influence her work too strongly: her father often warned her too well of the danger. But she had resurrected Marian from death itself. What had once been an anecdote passed down by Saracen physicians had become a reality, a miracle. At that moment her emotional and intellectual worlds had collided. And now she had saved Marian yet again, making her all the more desirous to see her live and thrive. But a husband was a dangerous thing, and though she kept a wary eye on Gisborne, she knew she could not do so forever.

All of her fine work, her careful stitching, had been scorched away, and she knew why. Marian should never have been permitted to marry in such a state, as though the marriage were not cruel enough. But the men had grown apathetic, thinking more of the sorrow of losing her than the trial she would face unassisted. And Marian was sacrificing her future to protect her father, while he thought only of honor. It had all ended in a pitiful excuse- a fall from a horse- as though that could make sense of the fresh, stitched up wound in just the spot where Gisborne's dagger had fallen. Djaq's complaints had gone unheeded, and now this.

Marian would forever be severed from their lives now: that much was clear. But when the young tailor's boy came breathless to the camp, pleading for Djaq, all of them suffered- from the fresh loss, from worry, and from impotence to help her. Were she in prison, they would rally. But she had agreed to be Gisborne's wife. It was a far different matter, but Djaq could not help questioning _why_. It was clear to all that the marriage was under duress. It was past midnight, no one had slept, and the atmosphere was sour.

"What has he done to her?" growled Robin, rising from a heap on the ground. He had not moved all night, and his eyes were bloodshot. Djaq held him back and quieted him, quieted all of them, just like the mother she never meant to be. She did not know for certain, but it must be the wound, once again.

"And if it's a trap?" asked Will, studying her carefully. He reached out his hand before retracting it quickly. "Let me go with you."

"I must go alone. If more than one of us is spotted, we will be suspect, and I will be unable to help."

"And if you're captured?" asked Allen, staring at the fire and carving a stick.

"Then we will stage a rescue." She smiled slightly. "But Gisborne asked for me himself."

"Then he does mean to hurt you!" said Will, grasping her hand. He blushed in the firelight, but kept a firm grip. His fingers were calloused and strong.

"On his wedding night?" She could see Robin flinch at her words. "No, I do not think so. He has seen what I can do. If he had hurt her himself he would not ask for me. Perhaps he has seen her wound-"

Robin clenched his teeth and thrust a stick into the earth. "If he has seen her wound-"

"She fell from a horse, remember?" Silence. Everyone knew how little sense it made, but nobody spoke for fear of spoiling the illusion. It would explain a broken bone perhaps, but a clean incision?

Robin hovered over her as she gathered her supplies. He seemed like a shadow, a being of the underworld. His lips would move, as though he had a question to ask, and then close again.

"Sleep, Robin," she said gently, rising and touching his cheek. "All will be well in morning." It was a lie, a horrible lie, but a lie of the kind mothers tell.

Djaq slipped off, the tailor's boy by her side. She looked over her shoulder at Robin as she left. He reached out his arm, but with the fire at his back, he was only a black silhouette.

* * *

The hideous burn on Marian's abdomen, the mangled fingers- she must remind her to bend them as they healed or they would grow stiff for life- Marian had great courage, though all would think her mad. In a strange way, Marian had improved her condition. Djaq had inspected the ember and matched it to the injury. It was smoother than might have been inspected, and Marian's wound was crudely cauterized. She had fallen into another fever, and over three days had lost consciousness both from the infection and shock from the burn. But she was safe; the wound would not fester again.

Guy had insisted on sleeping by her side, though Djaq warned of danger to them both. "She is my wife, and I will stay by her" he said, and she marveled at both his arrogance and his strange fidelity. Many men, in this land and her own, would spurn a woman who had committed such a bizarre act. It was a sign of a turned mind, of demonic influence, witchcraft. But though his every expression spoke of bafflement, wounded pride, and alarm, he remained insistent.

"She is my wife." Djaq parsed his words much has she had first parsed the English tongue. There was possession in those words, a possession Marian would surely recoil from, but also a weary tenderness.

He had arranged a pallet in the corner for Djaq, with a screen to hide her, or rather them. It was not enough. She knew her role- to watch and to wait- and she was the third party of a fresh marriage gone terribly wrong. Neither the bride, the groom, nor she should have been there. Curled up at night she remembered the rough skin of Will's fingers on her palm, and how it contrasted with the gentle hesitancy of his touch. But she would never love an Englishman: that much was certain.

* * *

"She's awake, isn't she?" asked Guy.

"I can not say," said Djaq.

"Well, you were talking, weren't you?" he growled.

"She was speaking nonsense. She is in- a state in between. She is not quite conscious, but is sure to be soon." She swallowed.

"Odd. She was in such a state the day before our marriage. I came to see her and-" he shook his head. "But this is of far greater severity."

Marian was grateful to Djaq, for the time she had granted her to regain her wits, for staying, and for saving her yet again. It was clear to her now, all that had happened- the marriage, her strange night with Guy, her mounting fever, the fire, her decision and the agony. It was beyond endurance, but she had to bear it, silently in an unmoving body.

Guy bowed his head, and kissed Marian on her open lips. "She will recover, won't she?" He asked.

"Yes," said Djaq. "Provided she is taken care of."

"I didn't do it, you know." His voice was half a growl and half a plea.

"I know you didn't," said Djaq sharply, and he seemed to relax, as though her opinion held any weight at all. "She clearly handled the coal herself."

"And I _didn't_ hurt her." he said, turning to Djaq, before resting his forehead on the bed. "At least not more than- it was our wedding night."

Djaq was silent, but her hands rolled into fists. "I-" Guy paused. "I thank you. You healed her, and you are clearly well trained."

"She was-" Djaq paused.

"Your friend?" Guy laughed bitterly. "Ah yes, she was, _a friend to all_. To far too many for my comfort."

Djaq's eyebrows rose. "It seems as though you do not trust her, your wife."

"I no longer know what to believe."

Djaq cleared her throat and looked to the side. "It will comfort you to know that we were not friends," she lied. "She helped me at a birthing- a tinker's wife. She is a kind woman, this Marian."

"Kind, yes…" He lifted his head. "Have you been trained- in matters of the mind?

"Matters of the mind?"

"Yes. It was only a small argument between us. We have always had our differences, and perhaps my marriage too her wasn't under- well, _ideal_ circumstances. But could that enough to drive her to such madness?"

"Many have ended their lives over less."

"Oh, no. Marian would have driven a blade through her breast, had that been her intention. But she seemed intent on wounding herself, just for the sake of it. "

"Shock can take its toll."

"Was it such a shock though? To marry _me_?"

She said nothing, and could see Guy's shoulders tense. He had his answer there. But as much as Djaq loathed him, she knew very well that it wasn't the marriage but self-preservation that had motivated Marian. She must have known she was growing weak, and harmed herself to hide all evidence, but in such a brutal way that Djaq doubted Guy could comprehend it.

Djaq had tended lepers and patients with flies buzzing over their amputated limbs. At age sixteen, while assisting her father, she had lifted a baby from the belly of a dead woman- a strong and lively girl when she left her, named Saffiya, after her. But imagining Marian's action, the hand in the fire, the searing flesh- it made her weak. This Guy had witnessed, and he seemed to blame himself, a burden of guilt she would not have thought him capable of. He had no comprehension of the reason, which in reality was quite simple. Most likely he would never know.

Djaq trembled, but her gaze steeled over. Perhaps this was his punishment then, for forcing himself where he wasn't wanted. For not realizing that a woman's love could not be taken like plunder, or made to bow under duress. And he _had_ inflicted that wound- certainly he had not known it was Marian, but he would gladly wound and injure and kill the innocent, and more, those she loved the best.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N Not to be _that person_ , but you've read this far, and enjoy (or hate it with a searing passion!) please consider leaving a review, especially if you follow it. It really makes a big difference and lets me know what aspects are most interesting, and what questions you have. I'm writing this in part to grow as a writer. Thank you!**

That afternoon Djaq trudged upstairs with a pot of hot water while Gisborne was descending. He stopped and looked at her, his expression grim as always. She shuddered slightly, and though she stared directly back at him, could feel her arms growing weak from the weight of the pot.

"Give that to me," he said. Her instinct was to clutch it, to protest, but she feared spilling it and scalding them both, so she let him have it.

"There should be a kitchen maid to take care of these things. I should have arranged it before the wedding, but I wanted Marian-," he paused. "I thought Marian might like to set up the household, and she knows these villagers better than I do."

 _They aren't terrified of her, for one_ , thought Djaq, before realizing to her great surprise that he was _apologizing_ to her. She kept her lips firmly pressed and followed him to the bed. Marian was sleeping, and even when she was awake, she pretended not to be aware. This Djaq could understand. Gisborne's solicitude would be worse than his neglect.

Djaq lifted the bandage to clean the wound, and Gisborne looked on. He made a hissing sound through his teeth at the ugly burn, with its misshapen yellow formations and gatherings of blood so dark they were nearly black. To Djaq's eyes it was almost beautiful, the fact that Marian's body was springing to its defenses and healing itself, healing _her._ She felt an urge to explain to Gisborne the good omens beneath the hideous scabs and pustules. But when she looked towards him, the sides of his mouth curled with disgust. Naturally, he would not see it as a healer did, but she struggled with a wave of quiet rage. _So his beautiful bride was marred. What a shame._

"You do not have to watch," she said calmly as she wrung out the cloth in the steaming water.

"It is my duty."

Djaq never intended to bait him. She needed to stay here, and had tried to be compliant and keep her tongue in check, but it was a challenge. "It can be no easy thing, to see your new bride so disfigured." Without moving her head, she peered up at him through he corner of her eye.

"That?" he snorted. "I have seen far worse in battle."

"As have I," she said, simply to let him know she too had been in the midst of battle. "But it is ugly, very ugly, and she is your wife," she said simply, pushing him further, and knowing all along the stupidity of doing so. She dabbed at the wound. Marian moaned slightly, and her eyelids flickered, but did not otherwise move.

Guy paused, his eyes trailing the length of Marian's abdomen, a look that might have been lecherous in another setting. He pulled his head away, and spoke in a hard, quiet way. "There are far uglier things at play," he said.

Djaq swept her hair from her forehead, and turned to him in alarm. She rested her hand on Marian's now, as though that could protect her.

She had a good idea of his meaning- that his bride was turned in the head, perhaps beset by demons. She looked at Marian, truly asleep, and gently breathing, sweet in expression as she was sometimes firm in resolution, and thought how hard it would be to believe. But suspicion seemed integral to Gisborne's character. It was like that with those who committed cruel deeds: they expected others to be like-minded, that they would play them the same tricks in turn.

"What things are those?" she asked, as though the subject were of no import to her, a mere matter of curiosity. Djaq did not truly expect him to tell her, but it was worth the asking, another tool to warn and shield Marian.

His smile was nearly cruel. "Now, have a care. We both know you are a cohort of Robin Hood, and a Saracen besides."

"I would think a Saracen would be the least of your enemies, considering that Richard has a mind to slaughter us all."

"The enemy of my enemy is my friend-eh?" Guy laughed, darkly, but with no contempt. "You fool yourself, girl."

She flinched, but smiled derisively. "Or it suits you to keep Richard where he is, on the other side of the world, whether he slits our throats or no."

Guy folded his arms, leather shifting. "Funny thing, that you consort with Hood. This Richard is a god to him."

She shook her head and lifted the cloth. While it would be a relief to her people when Richard returned to England, Gisborne's question was not foreign to her, but one she often mulled over. Robin loved his country, and that she could respect, but his speeches about his king had never sat well with her-in fact they pained her. But she loved them, her gang- all of them- their idealism, no matter how youthful or ridiculous, their commitment to justice, and most of all, their unwavering support of the common people. Her father had taught her it was the healer's duty to care for all, and to serve the downtrodden was a natural course for her. And not to do it alone, but in an infectious atmosphere of camaraderie and courage, an atmosphere that challenged all her faculties.

She suddenly felt homesick, and not for Acre. For her camp, Much and his dubious stew, Allen's tricks, Robin's swagger that sometimes- but not always- masked his golden heart, steady Little John, who calmed the lingering pain of her father's death with his mere presence, and also, also- _Will_. The last one was harder to sum up in a few words- the few words he would have used, quiet as he was. He was so simple in action, straightforward in duty, all of which belied the complexity she _knew_ would be there, if only he would reveal himself to her.

"No answer, Saracen?" Guy smirked, and she blinked, awake from her reverie. "I thought as much."

"Well, that makes two of us, with our lips snapped shut like rabbit-traps. " She smiled, and there was humor in her smile, which must have had some effect, because Guy laughed. _He actually laughed_. True, it was subtle and dark, much like the man himself, but there was real mirth in that laugh. Djaq had not believed him capable of such a thing.

"You are a strange creature." he said.

"And you-" she said, looking up at him. He glowered, waiting, almost excited for some bitter words from her. She twisted open the jar in her hands. "Are blocking my light," she finished.

He looked down at the long shadow he cast over Marian's torso, and murmuring something, stumbled out of the way. Djaq resisted the urge to laugh, and a dipped a fresh cloth into the jar of cooling ointment.

"What are you doing now?" he asked, his eyebrows furrowed.

Djaq bit her lip. "It will keep the burn moist, and ease the pain."

"I see. And then? " He seated himself in the corner, watching her.

"Then I will treat her hand. She uses her right hand, no?"

"Yes," he answered.

"Then she was very wise to injure her left." She mused.

"She has a way of planning things to her advantage," he said bitterly.

Djaq looked down at the wound. "I would not say that."

He shook his head. "No," he said slowly. "I was too hasty."

She really did wish he would go away. But she sensed he wished for something further than to be in Marian's presence, though that was primarily the case. It seemed as though he was desperate to speak his mind- to anyone really- but terrified to broach the subject. It was a strange thing for such a man- a heavy, grim man whose very presence inspired fear in the populace, whose lips were perpetually turning to smirk or sneer. But if he were to break down and tell his secrets, she would gladly receive them.

But she would have to use caution. She had let her anger get in the way that morning, enjoying seeing him stew in his own self-loathing, but now she would have to take on the gentle but dispassionate air of the healer.

She dabbed the ointment over the burn. Marian's body shifted.

"Stay, still, _Habibti,"_ she whispered.

"What was that?" asked Gisborne. "What did you call her?"

She shrugged. "Just some a word from my native tongue. _Habibti_. It means 'sweetheart' or 'darling.'"

Gisborne visibly winced. "You would prefer I didn't speak my heathen tongue," she said, laughing briskly.

"It's not that. In truth, I know the word. It's just…how freely you said it."

Djaq shrugged. "She is my- patient." She said, relieved at the save. She had very nearly said _friend_. The atmosphere was too casual, and she needed to show caution. "And she is a sweet girl, from what I have heard. It is not hard to say."

"Not hard for you," he answered, frowning.

"And for you? You would not utter sweet words to your own wife?"

"She would not hear them." he answered. And then much softer " _Even in waking_."

Djaq, paused, and pursed her lips together. A strange sadness came over her. This was not where she intended to go. It was Robin's heart she wished to calm, not his. But the healer prevailed.

"Then say it now," she said, stretching to make her tone playful. "If she can not hear you, all the better."

He seemed to sink into himself. He stared at the prostrate body with grief, but shook his head.

"Then use my word. I doubt she knows it."

He looked at her with sudden alarm. But slowly and stiffly, very stiffly, he leaned over the bed and reached out his arm so his fingertips were nearly touching hers.

He glanced at Djaq, and she, sensing his need for privacy, turned her head.

" _Habibti_ ," he said, quietly and then repeated it with greater strength. " _Habibti_."

He returned to his seat and sighed, and Djaq felt tired, too tired. She had not wrung any secrets out of him, and at this moment did not have the will to and more, she struggled with the disloyalty of her action. But she had a job to do. Gisborne remained where he was, and she finished her task, unspeaking in the fading light.

* * *

That night, she tossed on her pallet, unable to sleep. She could hear breathing- Marian's soft, and Gisborne's deeper. It was too much, too intimate and tomorrow she would sleep downstairs. Then she started.

There was a light scratching at the window. " _Yes_?" she whispered.

" _Meet me at the door_ ," said a voice, quiet and strained, so she could not make out the owner.

She quietly slipped from behind the screen, down the stairs, gently unlocked and opened the door, and slipped in front of it. There was a slight drizzle, but it was more refreshing than otherwise. A cloaked emerged from the shadows and lifted his hood.

"Will!" she said, too loudly, and clamped her hand over her mouth. She could not, however restrain her smile as she took his hands in hers. "I have missed you." And he smiled brightly. "All of you," she added quickly. "Are the others here?" she asked, looking about her.

"No, only me." he said. "I'm sorry."

"No I'm glad." Will blushed and looked down. "I'm glad at least one of you could come," she said, resisting the urge to stare at the ground herself.

"Djaq, you must return," said Will, and he took one her hands again. Droplets fell over his delicate features, and she felt a keen desire to brush them away, from his cheeks, his forehead, his black hair. He stared at her, confused by her silence, and she recovered herself.

"I can not. Not yet. Marian needs me," she said.

"How is she?" asked Will. And she told him- recovering, but still in a precarious state.

"And at the camp?" she asked.

"I hate to tell you this, but things are bad." Will shook his head. "Robin is still broken, Djaq."

Djaq grimaced. Shame, and it was raw. She had comforted her enemy, while her true friend remained in turmoil.

"The poor are still getting their due- Little John sees to that, but otherwise we're a sorry lot."

"It won't be long. Trust me, Will. Robin knows where his true duty lies." She looked firmly at him. The light shifted and she could see the faintest hint of the green in his eyes.

"Yes, but _when_?" He shuffled as though unsure of where to stand, and she smiled softly at him. "I think of only one person with the sense to bind us all together again- and that's you, Djaq."

It was so tempting. To be back among her friends, to help Robin, and to make things right, if she _could_ , as Will believed, because _of course_ he did, and to- well, _Will_. To, even its brevity and confusion, to have that time together. Just a glance, or a buoyant cheer after a good day's work, or a silent hour, apart from the others, watching the sun fall over Sherwood. Their lives were so fragile with the risks they took, and what was she doing here, a Saracen in a distant land? She never knew when it all might fall to pieces, and she was losing time here at Locksley.

But _Marian_ \- she could not leave her, not yet. So she simply shook her head, the pained expression on her face nearly denying the action.

He nodded. He always seemed to understand. She heard slight movement from the house.

"I must go, Will." She said, her hand on the door.

"But we will return. You are part of us, Djaq."

She blushed. "You think so?" She hadn't been there as long as the others, and was so different, she sometimes felt unsure.

He pursed his lips together in a wry smile, as though confirming the stupidity of her question, and she punched at his shoulder. He snatched her wrist, she laughed, and he leaned in.

"Unless you kill me now-" he looked at her hand, still balled into a fist, and then dropped it. " I will come back. Or, I mean, one of us will."

"No, _you_ ," she said impulsively, and then, unnerved by his startled expression, talked on. "No, I want to see everyone, but it would be nice if you tagged along, because we're friends right?" It was silent between them, with the rain coming down, and she felt like such a child.

But he wrapped his arms around her and hugged her, hugged her so that she could rest her head on his shoulder and breathe, breathe in his earthy scent and the smell of rain and life all around them. "Alright then," he said, finally pulling away, with an uncontrollable and infectious smile. He placed his hands on his shoulders. "You will see everyone _\- and_ me."

There were a few quiet seconds, so fraught she couldn't bear them. She nodded, slipped into the house, closed the door, and pressed her back to it. Tears sprung to her eyes, though she was still smiling. Too much had happened that day, far too much, but she would no doubt carry on.


	5. Chapter 5

_Fire._ _The scent lifted and she felt herself consumed. The flames licked upwards, swallowing her, rending her flesh from her bone..._

Marian's eyes flickered open, and she was trembling. She attempted to curl her body to still the shaking, but a searing pain tore from her abdomen up through her heart, and she the burned hand pulsed. She reached out and touched her stomach, her ribs, her throat. Alive. The anxiety lingered, but she must endure it.

A cool light, so unlike the intensity of fire, bathed her side. It was dawn, the tranquil hour before the glare of the first brilliant rays. She sucked in the rich summer fragrance, damp from the night's rain. A bird called, a close, vibrant trilling sound, and she turned to look.

She started. Guy was beside her. Marian swallowed and instinctively recoiled.

 _He slept there- next to her_. His presence seemed to her that of a beast sent to guard her. But where else would he sleep _?_

 _It is his bed, after all_. She sunk her head down and peered at him, ready at any moment to shut her eyes and cast him out. She wondered if it were not time to make her awareness known and fight her battle. It was inevitable, after all. But she could not shake off the exhaustion that winded her body and fogged her brain, and when she sat up, just as when she stirred in her sleep, all she could think of was fire.

 _Patience_ , Djaq had told her _. Soon_ , Djaq had told her. She scrunched her eyes closed, momentarily obliterating the light, and balled her good hand into a fist. This infernal stillness, playing the corpse, was almost as bad as the pain. And yet how could she face Guy, a man so keenly aware of any slight to his pride, a man that would rather break than bend?

Marian cautiously opened her eyes. Guy's hand was curled up, almost delicately. He was breathing gently. He slept with a deceptive peace. She had never seen him in such a state. Every feature was relaxed: no smirk, so furrow of the eyebrow, none of that constant vigilance that seemed to inform his every expression. It seemed false, and therefore disturbed her. The man before her was neutral, perhaps even gentle. There was no creaking leather, but just pale linen bunched up at his wrist and against his pale throat.

His eyelids flickered, and she noticed his fingers press against his palm. Three blue veins branched from his hand to his wrist, three veins filled with coursing blood, a badge of his humanity. A man in his nightshirt, unarmed, unguarded, and sleeping. In her care, in a sense. This is what it meant to have a husband. And then she remembered her terror on their wedding night as she lay prone beneath him like a living sacrifice. That was also what it meant to have a husband. How could a state induce tranquility and simultaneously abject horror?

Then his eyes opened. They were blue- bluer perhaps in the light than was growing increasingly clear. Marian stifled a small gasp, but he did not see her. He was blinking, drowsy, and the pupils were dilated. He groaned slightly and shifted his body. Marian closed her eyes again, and felt a transfer of weight as he slipped from the bed. When she opened them, he was pulling on his leather breeches.

"Girl. Girl!" He called, and Marian heard Djaq's mumbled response.

 _Why does he not he call her by her name? Does he even know it?_

"Marian's been shifting all night." He lifted up her arms behind his head, heaving a deep sigh. "Her bandages must be changed."

He had watched her sleep, just as she had watched him. Of course he had. She wondered what _she_ had revealed about herself.

"Yes, yes," Djaq replied from behind the screen. She emerged, her clothing and hair rumpled, and yawned deeply. "And you will help me."

"Will I?" he asked.

Djaq lifted her eyebrows, and hunched over her healing supplies. "Yes, you must learn." She lifted a brownish bottle and held it to the light. "I am not moving in, you know."

Guy snorted. "Heaven forbid."

Djaq ripped a bandage over her knee, then another. "Yes, Heaven forbids it. I have matters to take care of."

"Lawlessness and thievery no doubt." Guy's lip curled.

Djaq was remarkably alert for the hour of day, and she responded cheerfully. "You will not ask me to confess my many crimes in the house of a lawman, I am certain." She looked up at him and tore another bandage as she spoke. "But in some regards, yes."

Guy smirked. "You say you will not confess, then brazenly declare your wrongdoing."

Djaq slipped on the bed by Marian's side, and slipped a pair of lose trousers over legs. "And that is the joke, Sir Guy of Gisborne."

Guy started, and then laughed low. "You use my name now?"

She shrugged. "That was also in jest."

He frowned. "In jest? To use my proper title name in title?"

"Is it proper? Do you deserve it, Sir Guy of Gisborne?"

"Deserve it? It is my birthright and name!" he nearly shouted.

"Shhh," said Djaq, shaking her head. "It was another joke."

"And do you take _anything_ seriously?" His breathing slowed. He was clearly not used to humor.

"This," said Djaq, unwrapping Marian's bandaged hand. "I take this very seriously indeed."

Guy's brows furrowed together, and he nodded. "Is it worse?"

Djaq sighed. "But it is not better, either. The healing is slow. You will help me."

Guy pulled a stool up beside her, and Marian closed her eyes. He pulled up her shift and tucked it under her back to reveal the bandages around her waist.

It was strange to have the two of them speaking over her, and arranging her as though she were an oversized doll. Guy would be involved in dressing her wounds, and it seemed a odd thing, as he had stabbed her in the first place. Marian felt a lingering anxiety that some remnants of the original cut remained, and would give her away, though Djaq had assured it was impossible.

"You do not wish to do this, do you?" said Djaq.

Guy cleared his throat. "I do- only I am not sure…"

"You are afraid." Djaq said simply, and Marian could feel her bandage slip off her hand. She was tempted to look, but sickened by the thought, how burnt and ugly it must appear. Throughout her life, especially in the last years, she had taken so many risks, and though she was glad to risk pain and death, it had never occurred to her she might mar her beauty. She was not particularly vain, but it was a factor she had always taken for granted.

Guy's chair creaked. "Why do you ask so many questions? What matter is it whether I wish to or no? I must."

"You will do well," said Djaq.

Guy breathed in deep. Marian could sense his hands above her, but she could not tell where.

"What should I call you?" He said in a low voice. His hands slipped to Marian's side, and she could feel their cool breadth. She suppressed a shiver.

"Me?" asked Djaq, and Marian sensed her deft fingers as she helped him to arch her back and unwrap the bandage.

"You are called the Saracen, or Djaq, but I do not know if that is your real name."

Djaq laughed. "Here, use this." Marian flinched as a warm cloth pressed against over her abdomen. She did not know whose hands were on her, Guy's or Djaq's, or whether it made a difference. It was disorienting.

"So far you have called me Saracen, which is not a given name in any land, or _girl_ ," Djaq said, with some irritation at the last word. "I do not see why you now take interest in my name." Marian breathed out gently as a cool, gel-like substance covered her palm.

"Neither do I," said Guy. "But you said my name."

"That was in jest," she said briskly.

"Yes," he said, his tone fierce. "But what do I call _you_?" Marian felt the pressure of Guy's hands increase at her side. He seemed to feel her body tense, and his touch grew softer, almost gentle.

"I am Djaq." She said.

"And I am Guy."

"Gisborne." Said Djaq.

"What do you mean?" said Guy. He was now rubbing the chilled gel into the wound. His fingers were larger and rougher than Djaq's, but though he lacked skill, he seemed aware of the fact, and was careful.

"Guy is for your wife- I mean, _your friends_ to call you. I am working for you. Perhaps I should speak like a servant, and say _Sir Guy_ or _Most Honorable_ _Lord."_ There was an ironic flourish to her words. "But I work for nothing, which you will admit changes the rules."

"I have offered to pay you," he said.

"And I still refuse."

"That I can not understand. But very well," said Guy, his voice rough but not hard. Perhaps, though he had little humor of his own, he was learning to tolerate it. "I'll need your help with these bandages…Djaq."

The house seemed to reverberate. Marian's eyes opened involuntarily, but neither Guy nor Djaq was looking at her. There was a violent pounding at the door downstairs.

 _Robin_! thought Marian. But no, he liked a more dramatic entrance. There was a sound of a key clicking in the door, and the hinges creaked as it flung open.

"Now, where are my lovebirds?" cried the Sheriff. "Honeymoon's over, Gisborne!"

"Hide!" hissed Guy to Djaq. She nodded, and hurried behind the screen.

 _"The bluebells of May_

 _Are naught to my true love's eyes!"_

The Sheriff's voice resounded through the manor, and his voice was surprisingly, no, jarringly, pleasant. He marched up the stairs, still singing.

 _"And the sweet winds of June_

 _Are naught to my true love's breath!"_

Guy's body had gone stiff, and he turned around to face Marian. Her eyes were clearly open, and aware.

"Marian!" He said, his face a mixture of relief and panic. She was awake, and there was no hiding it.

"Guy..." she answered. He took her good hand, and turned his head towards the stairs in alarm.

" _And the rays of July_

 _Though so brilliantly they shine…"_

The Sheriff spun around the banister and stopped, grinning so that his tooth sparkled. There were two guards behind him, and if they were nonplussed by the singing, they kept their composure. Vaisey raised up his gloved hands.

 _"Are naught to my true love's- death!"_ The Sheriff laughed. "Weren't expecting that, were you, Gisborne? These songs are so predictable, I like to shake 'em up a bit. Rattle their crusty old bones."

Guy stood up. There was no hiding the bed, but the Sheriff's eyes were on his man. He placed his hands on Guy's shoulders.

"Was it all that you dreamed of and more?" The Sheriff laughed. "Wait," he paused, lifting his finger and pursing his lips. "I don't care. Back to work!"

"Yes, my Lord." said Guy, gently guiding the Sheriff towards the stair. "But I think the Lady Marian would like some privacy."

The Sheriff pouted. "Nonsense! We're all old friends here." He peered behind Guy's shoulder.

"Wait, what's this?" He walked slowly to the bedside, and Marian recoiled under his gaze. All of her burns were exposed.

"The _pretty_ one is not so _pretty_ any more, now is she?" He peered at her abdomen with the solicitude of a surgeon, and stroked his chin. Marian's mouth curled in disgust. "In fact- almost _leprous_ I would say," and he laughed.

"You tired of her rather quickly, eh, Gisborne?" He gave his man a small shove, and Guy grimaced. "I must say, I'm rather proud of you, Gisborne. Hopefully we will find the Lady Marian more _tractable_ in the future?"

Marian's brows knitted together, and she clenched her teeth.

"It wasn't like that," Guy said in a low voice.

"Oh no, it wasn't?" The Sheriff tilted his head and studied Marian. "Oh, heavens, there's more?" He walked to the other side of the bed and peered down at her swollen, burnt hand. "Interesting, Gisborne. Very interesting. Evidence says- _she did it_ _herself_."

The Sheriff broke into hysterical laughter. "Now this is a turn of events, indeed! I did not imagine she would make a fine wife, but you must greatly disappointing as a husband!" He leaned in towards Marian's ear, and she turned in her head in disgust. "What was it, my dear? Wedding night not to your fancy?"

She would gladly have hit him, if only she had the strength. "It wasn't like that." she said weakly.

"No?" He pouted. The rays were coming in brighter and it stung Marian's eyes to look on him. The Sheriff gripped Gisborne's arm.

"You know, Gisborne," he said in a theatrical whisper. "She has indeed shown _many_ signs of not being right in the head. Not a proper woman." He clicked his tongue. "No, not a proper woman at all. But I pity the leper. Truly, I do, Gisborne. You're a dour sort. Marriage to _you_ could throw anyone over the edge." Guy yanked from Vaisey's grasp, but the Sheriff barely noticed.

Then his eyes sparkled as he looked towards the corner. The morning light had hit the screen, and Djaq's crouching silhouette was clearly visible.

"You _do_ surprise me Gisborne!" he said, strutting to the corner and pulling Djaq from her hiding place. Djaq's look was deadly, but there was little she could do. "Your wedded state is more interesting than a Fools Day farce! A little tidbit to spice up your morbid marriage!"

"She's only a servant!" cried Guy. "Leave her be."

"Oh, it's _you_!" said Vaisey, taking Djaq's chin in his hands. "The little Saracen alchemist."

"You are mistaken, sire," said Gisborne. "She is a Saracen, but she knows nothing of alchemy. She is my _servant_ , and is caring for my _wife_."

The Sheriff tutted. "Oh my poor, Gisborne. These lepers addle your brains- even those ones with addled brains themselves," he said, glancing at Marian.

Guy's jaw clenched, and he stared the Sheriff down. Marian wished, as she so often had, that he would do _something_. It was so strange to see the man who had so often cowed her in the power of the Vaisey, who she despised more than she feared.

"Don't be so sensitive, Gisborne," said Vaisey, patting his cheek. "Your private affairs, entertaining as they are, are yours. You can keep your wife, if you really must. But the girl is mine."

"No!" cried Marian, sitting up. The pain was excruciating, but she barely felt it. She struggled to rise, and fell to her knees on the floor. Guy rushed to her side.

"Very invested, aren't we?" said the Sheriff, pouting. "A lot of struggle for Hood's friend, or should I say, his bit of entertainment? You've been all over Nottinghamshire, haven't you, dear?" he said, pulling Djaq closer. Guy lifted Marian. "Let go of me," she whispered, though she knew how ridiculous it sounded.

"There's nothing we can do-yet. Trust me." His eyebrows raised and he laid her on the bed.

"But don't worry, friends," said the Sheriff, reaching out his arms. "This very interesting addition to your marriage will be getting an upgrade. No mere servitude for her. She will be of great assistance to me in her little laboratory she so rudely escaped from." Djaq struggled in the guards' grasp, and Marian could have wept at her own powerlessness.

"And Gisborne- you _should_ be back at work. Though funny thing, how well I've managed without you. But I'm a kind man." He smiled, and his tooth sparkled. Guy had gone motionless, and was breathing deeply. "I'll give you the day to find a new nurse for your mad wife. Only this time do me a favor, and avoid bringing outlaws into your service? If I see Hood as your kitchen maid, there _will_ be hell to pay."

Vaisey laughed again, and started up another song as he marched out the door, the guards and Djaq trailing behind. Guy slipped to the window, and his fists clenched.

 _What does it matter to him?_ Marian wondered. She fell back in utter exhaustion, forcing her clouded mind to come to _some_ way out for Djaq, no matter how unlikely.


	6. Chapter 6

"Guy," said Marian. He had been standing at the window too long, as though hesitant to face her. She had not imagined that she would be the first to reach out, only that he would barrage her with questions as soon as she was capable of hearing them.

He turned around, slowly. His face was clouded, and though Marian was generally perceptive in reading his intentions, she could not make him out. She was sitting upright, her hands in her lap, a position as placid as a nun's, negating the turmoil within. He slowly seated himself on the bed, and to her immense surprise, buried his face in his hands.

She wanted to ask him why, but she keenly sensed the answer would be turned back on her in an attack she could not withstand, not now. So she waited. It seemed almost an imposition to watch him, so she stared ahead, at the banister where Djaq had disappeared.

Marian grit her teeth. Naturally it was a risk for Djaq help her, to come to Guy's house when he knew she was an outlaw. Yet, as little as she trusted Guy, she knew well enough he would not betray her healer. And in those last moments before she had lost consciousness- she remembered them all too well- the pain had been too searing, too all-consuming for her to consider the weight of her actions. She had only wanted relief, and had instinctually known, even in the fraction of a second when the idea came to her, that the quacks at the palace that Guy would no doubt seek would not provide it.

"She was under my protection." said Guy in a low voice. His face was out of his hands, and now he was staring at some distant corner. There were many retorts Marian could offer- the company you keep and all that- but she knew that Djaq had come to heal _her_ at _her_ request, and it would not be just.

But stranger still was that Guy cared at all. He gladly would have arrested Djaq the week before, and would have looked on dispassionately as she hanged.

"I should have foreseen it," she said gently.

"You?" he said, turning to her. "You weren't even aware."

Marian simply shook her head. She had been aware- the last day at least, and she should have had the presence of mind to tell Djaq to flee. But she had been so afraid, and Djaq's presence had stilled what might have been terror to a milder tone. She was still anxious at Guy's presence, but the real fear on her own account had fled, and now she was only burdened by her body and horrified at what might happen to Djaq.

"I wonder that it matters to you," she said softly. It was not an accusation, only because she expected so little of him.

He pressed on his knees, and his knuckles whitened. "I know-"he cleared his throat. "I know I am not a good man."

Marian was silent, but she knew he did not expect a reply. "I had a notion, no, a _conviction_ , that marriage to you could change that. That I could be reformed."

She thought of repeating Guy's words to Thornton, but it seemed somehow out of place.

"But quite the opposite-" he looked at her. There was no resentment, perhaps even a hint of fear. "Since I have married you, it seems as though my sins have taken on a darker hue."

"You fear for your soul…" it was a question, and yet her voice trailed off. She felt so distant from him, as though she were not his wedded wife, but in another room, or across the sea. Bringing up the ideas that had once inspired hot anger seemed a simple matter for reflection. "My lack of purity-"

Guy laughed low. "Oh, that mattered to me, I won't deny it. I could have taken several brides of lower station, and I denied them all. And I satisfied myself, in a carnal way, with others. I don't think that can shock you now. Then there was _you_." His voice took on that old possessive, covetous tone that had always frightened her. "You who were a true lady, a beauty, and respected. You were known for mercy, and charitable deeds. I heard no ill of you, though I confess, I sought to hear it, as it would have eased my torment."

The old passion had returned to his voice, but she remained placid. "Indeed, I should have told you. It would have been the salvation of his both."

"Perhaps." Guy's mouth took on its familiar, bitter lines. "And then I found out, and was consumed with such horror- my pristine lady, was lower than those brides I had rejected-"

"If you think-" she began, the heat returning in her voice, in her abdomen.

"Listen to me! And then a wave of relief washed over me, because it didn't matter. I had gambled all to be saved, but saving wasn't in me or for me. It was a farce, but somehow not a cruel one. I still had you in my arms- I still…and then _you_ -" He stared at her with such intentness that she recoiled, and some of the old fear came crawling back.

His hands were in his hair. "You were like a madwoman. You stared at that fire with such a hunger. You were clutching your knee, your arm was shaking and you seemed to dive into it the hearth, and I couldn't stop you, and when I did, there was the smell of burning flesh, and I tasted blood. _Jesu_ , Marian, it was a nightmare, as though all those years of violence came cycling back, as though all that I touched turned to ash."

She had never heard him speak so much, and she trembled.

"So I have been in hell, but it is a hell of my own making. Marian-"

Her entire body was shaking. He hesitantly placed his hand on her shoulder. "It's not only about you, Guy," she whispered.

"I know," he said, lowering and shaking his head. "But what can I ask you? What will you tell me? Someday, someday, I _will_ know the reason why you did such a thing."

She nodded, almost against her will. It seemed inevitable, that someday the truth would out. "And this marriage?"

He folded his arms, and clenched his jaw, and paused before answring. "That is not the problem at the moment, is it?"

She shook her head. No. _But he had still not answered her question_. "Djaq-" she said.

"I told you. I am not a good man. But I have my loyalties. You are under my roof, and I am loyal to you."

It seemed so little, and yet it was worth something.

"And Djaq- she saved you. She saved my wedded wife." He said the last words as if it were some distant personage, and not the woman before him. "And she was here throughout- that time. The waiting…"

Marian laughed lightly in spite of herself. "She could not have been very pleasant." And yet she had heard them: they had a rapport, and Guy had come the closest to jesting that she had ever witnessed.

"She is not a bad woman, and naturally, as an unsupported girl coming so fresh from a foreign land, she might fall into the wrong hands." Marian suppressed a smile at how greatly Guy underestimated Djaq. "She did me- or rather you- a good turn, and never asked for payment. Now why is that?"

He looked at Marian, and she wondered if there was an accusation in his words. "She may expect it later," she said, eyes averted to the side. "I have heard they barter differently in those lands."

"Perhaps." He frowned. "But I can not let her suffer for aiding me."

"Then-" her brows furrowed together. "Then you will defy the Sheriff!"

He shifted uncomfortably. "Loyalty, Marian. Remember what I said. This position, this house is due to…" He swallowed. It seemed as though it was finally dawning on him how much she hated those words and cast doubt on their validity. And again, she wished to engage in the eternal argument. _Why do you serve such a man_? But she did not have the strength. When she held left the church door on Guy's arm, she had kept a thread of sanity in the hope of redeeming him. But she no longer believed herself suited to such a role.

"I will find a way." He said. He stood up and began to dress.

"We will find a way," she said firmly.

He smiled. "We, Marian? Are you and I then in concord?" _Was he jesting with her?_

"I merely mean, that she saved _my_ life. I owe her the greater debt."

"Marian, you will not move," he said.

"I'm not sure _I can_ ," she admitted, frustrated. He bit her lip and slammed her open palm down on the bed.

"And you must have a nurse." he said, yanking on his boot. She remembered when she had pulled it off, so frightened...

She shook her head, why she could not say.

"Marian…" he started, and she was forced to admit defeat. But though she could not stir, she would certainly not be powerless.

"I don't wish for a stranger, Guy. There is a girl from the village- Meg- I believe she is staying with her uncle the wheelwright. I've known her since childhood."

He seemed to sense something was amiss, and she scrambled to calm him. "I was going to suggest her as my personal maid. There are other appointments as well." His features brightened, and he reached for his sword belt, hitching to his side. "I will bring her to you."

"But Djaq…"

" _First_ , I will bring you you your girl."

"Send her. Go for Djaq."

"If you wish. First the girl, then Djaq."

"Very well," she said, closing her eyes.

Guy cleared his throat, and she looked up. He was waiting at the banister.

"Yes?" she asked.

He clutched the banister. "Fare you well, Marian."

"You as well, Guy," she said politely. She returned his gaze momentarily, before averting her eyes to the window.


	7. Chapter 7

"Let me find a place for that cloak, my dear."

"Why, thank you Thornton," replied a high, chirping voice. It had seemed long, far too long , but Meg had arrived at last, and Marian felt something almost like happiness.

"To think, Lady Gisborne? And me, a lady's maid? And so quickly- who could have guessed it?" Meg continued cheerfully, and Marian listened to her quick, light steps as she dashed up the stairs.

The girl's cheeks were flushed from running, and she beamed. It was strange to see someone so happy, so joyful and unburdened. Meg had just reached her seventeenth summer, and had wavy brown hair, and large blue eyes.

Many said she resembled Marian, though not in her hearing, as it was thought rude to compare her to a lowborn girl. And this naturally led to speculation on her parentage and the behavior of poor Sir Edward, though Marian's coloring came from her mother, who had died before Meg's birth.

Marian had often wished the rumors were true. Little as she would have liked to see her father dishonor himself, it would have been something to have a sister like Meg. Though both girls had a longing for freedom, Meg had a more cavalier attitude towards life, and it seemed to spare her suffering. _Was I ever that way_? Marian wondered. Perhaps when she had wandered the woods with Robin, she had always had a streak of seriousness.

"You must forgive me," cried Meg. "I didn't mean to miss your wedding, and I wouldn't have for the world, only Uncle insisted I mind the children. And there was so little notice, and I had nothing to wear besides. I'm sorry, Marian-" Meg paused. "I mean, Lady Gisborne," she corrected herself, and attempted an awkward curtsey.

"Marian will do for me," she answered, smiling. "I am not raised so high as you might think. But the wedding was so quickly arranged that my own father missed it."

Meg's jaw dropped. "Sir Edward- he didn't give you away?"

Marian looked to the side. "It was a hasty affair."

Meg eyed her keenly. "You don't regret it, do you? You are Lady Gisborne now, with a husband ever so handsome, with a fine position at the castle. And it's good thing too, to quiet those quacking ducks who said you would die an old maid or-" Meg's cheeks reddened. She had a habit of speaking in haste. "I beg, pardon, milady." Another quick curtsey.

"Will you stop that?" chided Marian playfully. "I grant you my pardon with a whole heart, but if you keep dipping before me, my head will spin."

"Oh! How could I have forgotten?" Meg put her hand to her mouth. "Yes, Sir Guy hinted that something was amiss. I will look after you, I promise. Tell me, what has happened?"

Marian had the bedclothes up to her ribs, with her left hand at her side, and her wounds were not dressed. She didn't want to frighten Meg, and certainly didn't want to deter her from the mission she had in mind.

"I will explain later, Meg. I have an urgent message, that I need you to deliver."

Meg bit her lip, and tilted her head.

"To Robin Hood."

Meg gasped. "But…he's Sir Guy's enemy! The whole village knows of it. "

"You must, Meg," said Marian, trying to control the tenor of her voice.

"I know you were betrothed, but he's an outlaw now! You don't-" she paused. "You don't still love him, do you?"

The question was like a dagger, and it took all her effort to control her features. "He is- a good man."

"You do, then!" Meg's body stiffened.

"No!" cried Marian. "But he assists the people of this village, and the people of Nottingham. You must know that, at least."

"I do," said Meg grudgingly, and then her voice grew soft. "We've done well, but our neighbors...there was family with three little ones, like my cousins. Their arms were like _broomsticks_ , Marian." She hugged herself. "And Hood, Robin Hood helped them-fed them."

Marian couldn't help wondering if she herself had aided the family, but she brushed the idea from her head. "Then why do you act so shocked?"

Meg blushed, and rocked on her heels. "I suppose I'm not-not really. It's Uncle. He wants to raise us up in the world a bit. You remember my cousin Luke? He's a year younger than I am, and off he went to join he castle guard, all to please his da." She laughed lightly. "Well, he went and- dolt that he his- got himself knocked to the ground on the very first day by Hood and the gang, and there was hell to pay. Now we're on the Sheriff's side, it seems. Uncle could barely contain himself for joy when Sir Guy sent me here."

Marian nodded. "Your uncle is trying to make the best of things. Your cousin too. But working with the Sheriff isn't the safest of positions," she said wryly. "I will tell you something, a secret. You won't tell anyone?"

Meg's eyes widened. "Not a soul."

"The sheriff is holding a friend of mine prisoner. She is a friend of Robin's as well, and he _must_ help her. I need you to go to his camp and deliver a message."

"Me? Go to the woods?" cried Meg.

"And tell him to come here immediately."

"Him? Come _here_?" cried Meg.

Marian looked down, biting her lip. "Now, I know this isn't easy, but I can tell you exactly where he is."

"I certainly don't have a problem with directions," said Meg, offended. "But are your brains addled?"

Marian smiled bitterly, remembering the Sheriff's words. "It's very possible. I would gladly go myself, Meg, but I can't move."

Meg approached her, and reached toward her. "What exactly is amiss, Marian?"

Marian grimaced. She didn't want to have to do this. "I have been injured- badly."

Meg looked on alarm. "But I don't see-"

Sighing, Marian pulled back the bedclothes. Meg stepped toward her, mouth agape.

And she screamed.

"Hush!" said Marian, putting out her hand. "It looks far worse than it is."

"I can't bear it Marian." Meg's eyes filled with tears, and she turned away. "They spoke ill of Sir Guy, and I ignored it, but- is he really such a brute?"

"It was an accident!"

"They always say that," said Meg bitterly. "But it's never true." Marian started. Perhaps Meg knew more about life than she let on.

"I promise you, on my honor, that Guy did not do this."

Meg sighed. Her voice trembled. "Then I will tend to you, right away."

"That is not what matters! Meg, do as I say, this once!" Her voice grew desperate.

"Very well," said Meg firmly, her flexible features steady at last. "Tell me where to go."

* * *

Djaq shivered and huddled in the corner. It was cold and damp in the cell, and more, when the guards saw her, they _talked_ about her. They didn't realize that she understood every word that they said, and as their boredom grew, their speech heightened in vulgarity. _Hood's Whore_. And worse yet, all the things they would do to her, if they had the chance. She was tempted to rattle the bars and curse them in their own tongue, but it was better to feign ignorance. They could very well reveal information that would be useful in the future _. If there was a future_.

Of course, she was intended for alchemical work. It seemed the Sheriff was biding his time, or hoped to make her grateful to leave her cell. It was a wise move, and it would take quite a bit of _convincing_ for her to agree. She would have liked to believe she would never break, but she had seen enough agony and the aftermath of torture to know that everyone had their limit.

She clenched her teeth and kicked the bar.

"Quiet, whore! " the guard called.

"Dirty bitch of a Saracen," the other muttered and laughed, a hoarse, rasping laugh. Djaq slunk back into the shadows.

She had put herself here, and she knew it. It had been foolish to linger at Gisborne's house, to provide anything but the briefest medical attention to Marian. She could have slunk in at night. Perhaps Gisborne could have changed the bandages. She pursed her lips together and shook her head. _No, he didn't know. It wouldn't have done._ So many things that she did could have landed her here, and she wasn't going to regret this one. But somehow she knew the others would berate her for taking the risk, perhaps for helping _Gisborne's wife_. As though she ceased to be Marian after a marriage of duress, as though she had truly become, as the marriage vows said, of one flesh with him. Of course they didn't want harm to come to Marian, but they had given up on her. And her thoughts grew less altruistic. _But will they judge me_?

She stared up into the light, a simple sliver where a torch had bounced off of the stone wall. A drop of water fell steadily from the ceiling, in an endless pattern that would have driven a weaker mind mad. Her eyes filled with tears, and she remembered her meeting with Will, when a faint drizzle had fallen over them. He had not judged her. He had embraced her, and she could clearly imagine the eternal stillness of his gaze. _Will I see him again_? Did they still have enough faith in her to stage a rescue- one of those thrilling encounters with fate where they always seemed to come out victorious? Her mouth curled into a smile, but it was a sad smile. She simply didn't know.

She was torn out of her reverie by a set of shadows against the light. She slid in terror so she was half standing against wall. She wasn't ready. _Not yet_. And she gasped.

Guy of Gisborne placed his hands on the bars.


End file.
